


Clouds

by fits_in_frames



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drug Use, M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-11-21
Updated: 2005-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-21 23:44:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1568264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fits_in_frames/pseuds/fits_in_frames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Neville, is that Gillyweed? Are you--are you <i>smoking</i> it?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clouds

He slips out the back door, invisible, into the chilly March air. The dock from the Second Task is still up and sometimes he likes to just sit and clear his head. Today, however, someone is already dangling one foot in the water. He almost turns away until he hears a cough that sounds distinctly familiar. He stuffs his cloak into his pocket and his feet feel like lead as he approaches the end of the dock. They haven't really spoken since last month and he feels terrible about it.

"'Lo, Neville," he says smoothly.

Neville looks up at him, smiling, eyes slightly glazed. One of his legs is curled under him and he's holding what looks like a Muggle cigarette. "Hi Harry."

He glances down and sees a stack of white paper held down with a rock and strips of--

"Neville, is that Gillyweed? Are you--are you _smoking_ it?"

Neville shakes himself out of a trance, if only a little bit. "Well, yes. You won't tell, will you?" He suddenly sounds very worried. Paranoid, almost.

"Of course not," he says, and means it. "Just--why?"

"Why not?" He laughs, uncharacteristically loud. "I was reading this old book on illegal uses of various plants and it talked about how some people used to smoke Gillyweed in their parlors to relax in the evening until that was outlawed in 1823, and then I found this piece of parchment that looked like it was torn out from another book between the next two pages that had instructions on how to--well, smoke it properly, and _then_ someone had written about how no one ever bothers with checking up on Gillyweed anymore. So I tried it." He seems out of breath, as if he hasn't spoken this much to someone in weeks. He probably hasn't. He smiles again and takes a long drag.

"Neville, are you sure this is--"

"Safe? About as safe as eating it, I suppose. You'd know more about that, though." He flicks his joint into the lake.

"About that--well, thanks. I reckon I couldn't've done it without you." He smiles, sits down and takes off his shoes and socks. "Mind making me one?" He's surprised at the words coming out of his mouth, but Neville is already rolling up a second smoke as a companion to the one dangling dangerously off of his lower lip. He licks it shut, hands it to Harry, and touches the lighted end of his wand to it. "Thanks," he says, breathing deeply. For a brief moment, he feels as if he is literally swimming in happiness, only to be interrupted by a violent fit of coughing.

Neville is laughing at him again, pausing only to take a skillful drag himself. "I did that, too, the first time. You get used to it right away, though. Go on, try it again." He grins mischieviously.

He takes another puff, and--true to Neville's word--he does not collapse into a coughing fit, nor is the feeling of floating euphoria as strong.

They sit in silence, smoking, for what seems like an eternity before he lies down, feet grazing the water's surface, head in Neville's lap. Neville doesn't seem to mind and, in fact, begins absently running his fingers through Harry's hair.

"I really mean it," he says through a cloud of smoke. "I couldn't've done that task without you. You really saved my neck, Neville. I owe you one." He looks up, and Neville is staring up at the sky, flicking ashes into the water.

"I like to watch the clouds sometimes, when I'm out here," he says. "Like that one--" he points with the middle finger of the hand holding his joint "--that one looks like the Whomping Willow. You know about the Whomping Willow, right?"

He nods, and almost tells him just how much he knows about the beast of a tree, but takes another hit before he can.

"I've never done this with anyone before," he says, faintly. "Smoking, I mean. No one ever comes to find me when I sneak out here. No one ever cares that I'm gone. I'm glad it was you that did. I'm glad you came."

He starts to say how he was really just trying to get away from Ron and Hermione's bickering, but is once again saved by the joint. He readjusts himself, moving his shoulders off of Neville's thigh, resting the crook of his neck there, instead. Neville's hand doesn't seem to notice the difference.

"I'm glad I came, too, Neville." He stares up at the sky. He thinks one of the clouds begins to look like one of Trelawney's crystal balls, and then laughs, realizing that all of them do. He takes a last drag, flicks his joint into the lake, and nudges his head up against Neville's stomach. "I'm glad I came, too."


End file.
